


evermore

by spaceprincess97



Category: Dalton Academy Series
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 11,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28082340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceprincess97/pseuds/spaceprincess97
Summary: A series of short fics each inspired by a song off Taylor Swift’s 9th album, evermore.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/John Logan Wright III, Blaine Anderson/Jude Whittaker, Charles Amos/Justin Bancroft, Hope Clayton/Sydney Willis, John Logan Wright III/Micah Randall, Joshua Tipton/John Logan Wright III, Julian Larson-Armstrong/Clark Sawyer, Julian Larson-Armstrong/John Logan Wright III, Julian Larson-Armstrong/Sebastian Smythe, Merril Portman/Spencer Willis, Riley Paige/Julian Larson-Armstrong, Shane Anderson/Micah Randall, Shane Anderson/Reed Van Kamp, Wesley "Wes" Hughes/Kurt Hummel
Comments: 14
Kudos: 11





	1. willow

**Author's Note:**

> Reed/Shane. Wherever Reed strays, Shane follows.

“Run away with me,” Shane asks for the hundredth time. Reed chuckles and leans closer, pushing back the curls hanging in Shane’s face. 

“But what will my mother say?”

At his words, Shane looks to the chamber door, as though the duchess might come bursting in any second. But it’s the middle of the night, and Shane snuck in through the tower window—Hilde won’t find them here, not tonight. 

“I don’t care.” Shane shakes his head. “All that matters is you and me. 

Reed leans back on the pillows they share and sighs. He looks over at Shane, indulgent. 

“Where will we go?”

Shane grins. 

“Anywhere. Paris, maybe. Or Italy. Anywhere you want.”

Reed twines their hands together, lifts them above their heads. He’s tired enough, content enough, that it almost feels possible. 

“Anywhere I want?”

“Anywhere,” Shane says vehemently, squeezing Reed’s hand. “Anywhere you go, I’ll follow.” 


	2. champagne problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Audrey has a realization at her would be engagement party. Sometimes you don’t know the answer until someone’s (almost) on their knees.

The invitations said otherwise, but everyone knew it was an engagement party. The tension in the room crackled like a loaded gun, a firework about to explode. A precipice, a before and after. 

The conversations around the crowded ballroom were aimless, all of them waiting for the real party to begin. There was extra champagne stocked under the bar, and a lovely cake hiding in the kitchen. 

Audrey knew all of this, of course she knew, because it had all been planned out this way for months. For years. It’s never bothered her before. But that night, it finally did. 

It’s hard to say what it was, exactly. Maybe it was the way Mrs. Wyatt sounded out every word she said slowly, like Audrey was a toddler. Maybe it was the way everyone kept sneaking glances her way. Or maybe it was just the cold, dead feeling of Oliver’s hand in hers. 

Whatever it was… it was the breaking point. Certainty flooded through her like cold water and when Oliver began to lead her to the centre of the room, Audrey resisted. Ripped her hand from his. 

He reached for her. She could see the tension in his jaw, the annoyance in his eyes. Audrey had never been one to cause a scene but she stood her ground. She wasn’t going. 

The altercation rippled through the room and she felt rather than saw her brothers appear at her sides, as though daring Oliver to come closer. The vein in Oliver’s forehead was visible, pulsing. Silence descended while the rest of the family closed in, watching. Waiting. For her. 

Audrey took a deep breath before she began to sign, explaining at first, apologizing. She rejected Oliver in a language that he never bothered to learn, but the message was clear: no. 

She didn’t wait for an answer, just left the ballroom and her negligent would-be-fiancé behind while her brothers followed her out into the cold. 


	3. gold rush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian/Clark. Clark wonders what it must be like to grow up that beautiful.

* * *

Anyone else, and they’d say Clark was out of their league. How many times had he made the list of People’s sexiest men alive? Magazine after magazine had waxed poetic about his floppy surfer boy hair, his deep blue eyes, his long fingers. But when you’re standing next to Julian Larson, well… how could anyone measure up?

Clark doesn’t _care_ about how he looks, not really, he never has. That’s not what this is, he’s not jealous. It’s the part of him that’s afraid that he’s not enough for Julian. That someday Julian will look back at those pictures of them together on stage or on red carpets and be disappointed. 

He mentions this offhand to Raven and he has the gall to *laugh* at him. 

“What?” Clark asks, disgruntled. The tips of his ears are bright red. 

“No dude, it’s just—“ Raven snorts. “First of all, if anyone thinks you aren’t “good enough” to be with Jules they’re crazy.” 

He shoves Clark’s knee with his foot, sinking deeper into his end of the couch. 

“But also,” he says, gaze softening, “that’s not—you know that picture of us with Jules from the BBMAs? And how we all said it’s the best we’ve ever looked? That’s what he does, he makes everyone around him look… brighter.”

Raven’s gaze unfocuses a little as he stares at the wall, absentmindedly plucking at the guitar in his hands. 

“You’re like double suns, Clark. You make each each other shine.”

Clark throws a pillow at Raven, who splutters. 

“That’s cheesy as fuck, dude.”

Raven throws it back at him. 

“Whatever, man, why don’t you find your boyfriend and tell him how pretty he is?”

And Clark, feeling like a weight’s been lifted, leaves to do just that. 


	4. tis the damn season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian/Sebastian. The road not taken might just lead to Sebastian in Julian’s hometown.

It’s hard not to think about last December as this one comes into focus. They see each other every day, Sebastian’s room only a couple doors down from Julian’s. But they still haven’t talked about it. It lingers in every cup of coffee Sebastian gives him, in Sebastian’s mismatched gloves, in the macarons that appear some mornings on Julian’s bedside table. But they don’t talk about it. 

On the last morning before the semester ends, Julian finds Sebastian in the kitchen with one hand clutching his phone to his ear and the other braced against the counter. He doesn’t hear Julian come in and Julian doesn’t make his presence known. He just leans against the opposite counter and waits. 

From the language and the urgency Julian knows Sebastian is talking to his parents. His French is good, but not good enough to quite catch everything Sebastian mutters rapid fire into the phone. He gets the gist, though. A last minute business trip. Alphonse, dragged along with them. Reggie, out of town. Sebastian will be alone in Paris for Christmas. They’re worried about him. 

Frankly, Julian is worried about him too. For all that Sebastian loves his independence, he loves his family more. Yes, he had his own apartment in Paris, and he’s alone here at Dalton, but his brothers tether him, ground him. Julian doesn’t know what it’s like to have family that centers you like that. 

Julian pushes himself off the counter and moves to Sebastian’s side. He puts his hand on the phone at Sebastian’s ear in silent question. Sebastian lets him take it. He doesn’t look surprised. Maybe he knew Julian was there all along. He leans into him, neither of them looking at each other but their shoulders pressed together. 

Julian speaks to Denise Smythe with easy charm. She knows him, after all. She met him last year, saw him again this year at the Fall music festival. She told him that it was nice to see Sebastian finally making friends his own age. 

It’s this tenuous trust that Julian relies on when he makes his offer for Sebastian to spend the break in Los Angeles, with him. Sebastian’s head snaps up, looking at Julian but he says nothing. Julian smiles in that glossy editorial way he does, insisting that it’s no trouble, that his mother would be happy to have him. Denise agrees, grateful. Thanks him for being so good to her son. 

He hands back the phone. Sebastian recovers quickly, tells his mother that he’ll let them know about flight times and that he’ll call on Christmas. He says goodbye and hangs up. He looks back at Julian, as though to ask, are we really doing this?

Julian smiles again, but this time it’s genuine. In it, a promise: let’s escape again. Together, again. 

Julian’s hand finds it’s way on top of Sebastian’s on the counter. 

A do over. 

Bailey joins them in the kitchen and they shift apart like it’s choreographed. Sebastian hands Julian the cup of coffee on the counter, like he made it for him in the first place. 

Maybe this time they won’t have to make deals to hold each other at arms length. 

Julian takes a sip of the coffee. It’s sweet, almost too sweet. Just the way he likes it.

Maybe this time, the ending will look different. 


	5. tolerate it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh/Logan. Joshua’s just begging for footnotes in the story of Logan’s life.

* * *

Josh knew from the beginning that this was finite. He was barely a rebound; Logan didn’t even bother to call him his boyfriend. But he couldn’t stop himself from trying to make the two of them work. 

He’d wander campus after class sometimes, looking for Logan. Most times, like that day, he found him playing the grand piano in Warblers Hall. Logan looked deep in thought as he played a song that Josh didn’t know. 

Josh swept into the room with a rakish grin, the picture of nonchalance with sweaty palms and a racing heart. 

“Hey, Logan.”

Logan looked up, hands stilling. His expression didn’t change, like it didn’t bother him one way or another that Josh was there. 

“Hey.”

He looked backed down on the keys, once again focused on the melody. Josh came closer and leaned on the cover. 

“I—that sounds nice.”

“Thanks.”

Hollow. It sounded so hollow, when Logan talked to him. Nothing like when he was talking to—

“Blaine’s been saying that he’s going to audition for lead. Everyone in Windsor’s talking about it.”

Logan tensed. It was dangerous, bringing up Blaine. But it came with a reaction guaranteed every time. And Josh was desperate for acknowledgment, engagement any way he could get it. 

“Good for him,” Logan said, almost too calmly. He hit the next chord a little too hard, the keys audible against the wood. 

“I just thought you’d want to know, considering… everything.”

Logan didn’t respond to this, but the tension in his jaw was unmistakable. Nothing got under his skin like talking about Blaine. But it looked like this was as much as Josh was going to get out of him today. 

Josh swallowed hard. He took his arms off the cover and asked, 

“I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah. I’ll text you.”

And Josh would go. He always did. Funny, that he had to fight so hard just to get Logan to talk to him when all Logan had to do was say the word and Josh would be there in an instant. Understanding his dismissal, Josh turned to leave. 

“Bye, Logan.”

Logan didn’t respond, just kept playing that melody as he walked away. 

The last time Blaine had bothered to speak to him, he’d warned Josh that he was playing with fire. But what no one seemed to understand was that Josh was willing to risk the burns if it meant getting a little warm. 


	6. no body, no crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer/Merril. Spencer thinks Sydney’s husband did it, but he just can’t prove it.

Merril had never liked Sydney’s husband. She liked him even less when he got away with her murder. 

She had no proof, of course. He’d been so so careful. He was clean from his alibi to the brand new tires on his truck. But Sydney? Who’d been trekking through the woods her whole life, who’d learned how to fire a rifle at the age of ten, who’d always planned everything down to the last detail, just in case? She wasn’t the type to disappear on a hunting trip. It just didn’t make sense. 

At first she’d been confused, not suspicious. But then Sydney’s brother Spencer had showed up at her door. Spencer, who Merril’d been hopelessly in love with for three years. Not that it mattered. 

“Can I come in?” he’d asked, voice worn ragged with grief. The shadows under his eyes were dark and deep-set, betraying his lack of sleep. He looked like he was on the verge of collapse. 

“Of course,” she responded, holding open the door. Spencer and Merril were friends, but not in the way that he’d normally show up to her home unannounced. She led him into the living room where he fell into one of her squashy armchairs. Without preamble, he said,

“He did it.”

Merril blinked. She knew who he was referring to, of course. And what. There was little else he could be talking about. But—

“How do you know?” she asked, calmly. She sat in the armchair opposite his, so close that their knees were almost touching. 

“I don’t—” he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I can’t prove it. But I know, Mer. *I know.*” 

Merril processed this. Al was a lot of things: brash, arrogant, stubborn—but a murderer?

“He was cheating on her, you know that?”

Spencer’s eyes were glazed. He picked at his cuticles. 

“She figured it out. He got sloppy, made one too many stops at the jeweler on their shared bank account. She was going to confront him, before everything happened.”

Merril pulse quickened. She knew that Sydney was too good for Al, had always known, but she didn’t know it was like *that.*

“And now she’s—” Spencer swallowed hard. “Merril she moved in. To their house. Two weeks my sister’s been gone and he doesn’t even have the audacity to pretend to grieve before he moves on.”

Merril had never seen Spencer like this. His eyes were bright, a little too wide. He looks like this is the last thing holding him together. 

“What can I do?” Merril asked. The answer is anything. She’d do anything for Spencer, no matter what it meant. No matter what it cost. He leaned forward and took both her hands in his. 

“Help me, Merril.” he said, eyes pleading. “Help me get rid of him. Help me fix this.”

It’s a dangerous game he was proposing. But for the Willis twins, well… she was more than willing to play. 


	7. happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine/Logan. There’ll be happiness after Logan, but Blaine can’t deny that there was happiness because of him, too.

There’s a small window between Blaine and Logan dating and Blaine and Logan fighting where Blaine doesn’t hate him just yet. He’s still carrying his love for Logan like a bruised and fragile thing, even though it’s over. It’s good that it’s over. He needed it to be over.

When he’s lying on the floor in his room with tears streaming down his face, his friends not so subtly standing guard outside the door, he tries and fails not to feel guilty for ending things. He knows he hurt Logan by letting him go, but didn’t Logan hurt him first?

“It’s like a broken bone, you know?” David had said, the last time it was his turn to check on Blaine. Everyone, but him especially, insisted that he had done the right thing. “Sometimes you have to rebreak it so it heals right.”

That’s how he feels, like he’s coming apart and being pulled back together all at once. Blaine thinks about everyone he’s already lost and he wants to _scream_ , because this time he got to choose and he chose to let go. He had to. He didn’t mean to.

Is it supposed to hurt this much?

Blaine rolls onto his side. All the pictures that were pinned above his bed now cover the floor. He can’t bring himself to throw them away just yet. He grabs the nearest one and squints at it through blurry eyes. Him and Logan, sitting together in the Stuart common room. He doesn’t know who took it. Maybe Julian.

The Blaine in the photo is laughing with his head thrown back and his eyes squeezed shut. Logan’s looking at him, his expression impossibly fond. The moment feels foreign. Like it belongs to someone else. The Blaine lying on the floor in his bedroom doesn’t know how to connect himself back to that person.

“When does it get better?” he asks Wes, when he comes in 10 minutes later. Wes sighs. He drops the bag of takeout on Blaine’s desk.

“When you forget to ask yourself that question.”

But Blaine can’t comprehend a world where he doesn’t love Logan so much he can barely breathe. It’s overwhelming and oppressive, consuming his senses now that the love has nowhere to go.

Without meaning to, Blaine falls asleep on the floor, exhausted from the emotional purge. He wakes up in the dark with his friends asleep around him, lying in little nests of pillows and blankets they clearly dragged in from their own rooms.. The pictures are gone, probably safe somewhere he can’t fixate on them. All that’s left is a picture of him and Shane, with a sticky note on top. He squints to read it in the faint light.

_I know it doesn’t feel like it now. But you’re gonna be okay, Blaine. You’re gonna be happy again. You just have to get there. — J_

It soothes his heart like a balm. The comfort lands in a way nothing else has yet. Funny, how Joshua always seems to know what to say. He falls asleep again with the note clutched in his hand.


	8. dorothea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope/Sydney. It’s never too late for Sydney to come back to Hope’s side.

“Hope.”

Hope turned at the sound of her name and stared. It took a moment for it to register, the strangeness of seeing this person in this place for the first time in years, before she flung her arms around her old friend. 

“Sydney!” 

Sydney laughed, the sound vibrating against Hope’s chest. 

“Oh my stars, how long has it been?” Hope pulled back and took Sydney by the shoulders so she could get a good look at her. She looked the same, really. Maybe the ponytail was less severe. 

“Five years, at least.” Sydney raised one slender eyebrow. “Hard to believe it took our 10 year high school reunion for us to see each other again.” 

It was hard to believe, wasn’t it? They’d been nearly inseparable in high school. Prefect duties and Terpsichores had revealed them to be excellent partners. 

“Well… you know how things go,” Hope said, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. It just got so hard, what with Sydney being deployed after college and Hope moving back home to Georgia. They’d chased very different dreams, and it’d led them very far away from each other, in more ways than one. 

“I know. I know.” Sydney’s expression softened, that way it only ever did when she was looking at Hope. “I just missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Hope looked around the crowded hall at their former classmates. As former prefects, they were both expected to speak but… they had a little time. She looked back at Sydney, considering. “What do you say we take a walk around the grounds? For old times sake?”

Sydney grinned and it was like they were seventeen again. 

“Will this walk take a detour under the bleachers?”

Hope blushed and punched Sydney in the arm. 

“Only if you’re lucky.”

They slipped out of the hall as quietly as possible, but at least a handful of people noticed the way Hope led Sydney out, with their hands intertwined.


	9. coney island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane/Micah. Shane and Micah were like the mall before the internet, it was the one place to be.

Micah made his way down the pier alone. It was a gloomy day in early December, right before school got out for winter break. It was busy, but not holiday busy, not yet. 

_Shane runs toward him, laughing. He’d rolled up his jeans but they’re still soaked at the bottom. His ankles glisten with seawater._

_“Micah you gotta come in with me.”_

_He grabs Micah’s hand, fingers cold. Micah can’t help but smile as he lets Shane pull him down the beach toward the water._

They’d come here so many times. It was a good way to get away from everything, and there was something for everyone. Jude took pictures while Blaine trailed after him. Erin and Becca blew money on the rides, the ferris wheel for Becca and the roller coaster for Erin. Shane wanted to do it all; Micah was happy to do it with him. 

He walked under the sign that says Pacific Park and drifted into the arcade. There were plenty of other teenagers there. He’d probably blend in if he had friends with him, but Micah was like a wraith in a brightly lit room.

_Shane never looks as happy as he does when he’s dancing, even if it’s just stomping his feet through a round of DDR in the arcade._

_“Micah, you’re terrible at this.” Shane looks over at him but he doesn’t miss a beat._

_He’s right. Micah couldn’t be worse if he tried. He doesn’t care. He’ll do anything that means Shane looking at him like that._

The light started to fade. This was always Micah’s favorite part of the day in Santa Monica. He liked the way everything looked in the neon lights, liked how it felt like time had slipped off its axis. When he was younger it felt magical. Now it just feels a little empty. 

_Shane leans over the railing. Not far enough to fall, just far enough to make Micah’s heart jump. Micah puts his arms on the rail and leans into him._

_“Why don’t you like the ocean, Micah?” Shane asks._

_“Of course I like the ocean,” Micah says back automatically. Shane shakes his head._

_“You don’t. You look at the water like it cheated you in a poker game.”_

_Micah laughs. He’s not wrong._

He followed the yellow line that bisected the boardwalk and stopped under the signpost for Route 66: End of the Trail. 

_“We could go somewhere else, you know,” Shane says. He jumps down onto the boardwalk. Micah shakes his head._

_“You love it here. Everyone loves it here.”_

_Shane gives him a funny little smile, serious in a way that’s rare for him._

_“I don’t want you to be somewhere that makes you unhappy, Micah.”_

_Shane takes his hand, like it doesn’t matter who sees. Out here, maybe it doesn’t. Micah puts his free hand on Shane’s cheek._

_“I’m happy anywhere that makes you happy.”_

Micah left the Santa Monica Pier as he arrived: alone, a little haunted by the memories of what he used to have and who he used to be. Before he went, though, he stopped to unlace his shoes and walk ankle-deep into the water. He stood there for a minute in the last dregs of sunlight. It was cold. But it was nice, in a way. 

It’s what Shane would have wanted. 


	10. ivy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley/Julian. Riley's promised to another, but Julian can't stop Riley from putting roots in his dreamland.

Everyone on campus knew about Riley Paige. The heir to a music store empire, married off at 19 to the daughter of one of the most powerful record execs in the country. Riley and Annaliese had made headlines, not because they were famous themselves, but because of the money and connections involved in the whole affair: a laundry list of celebrities in attendance, hundreds of thousands of dollars pumped into venue and floral arrangements, a gown that every bride wanted to emulate. And if you didn’t know, well, you still knew about Riley. 

He walked around campus in such a way that didn’t ask for attention, but demanded it nonetheless. He stalked through the commons with purpose, all tall, blond, and beautiful. Everyone couldn’t help but watch—from a distance. Riley was as cold as he was entrancing and no one dared get too close. 

Julian, for the record, had never thought Riley was all that intriguing; like a jigsaw puzzle he didn’t quite have the motivation nor true interest in solving. He’d asked Logan about him once; as a music major Logan had spent far more time with Riley than most. Logan had waved him off, said that Riley was talented but private. Julian hadn’t thought about it any further. That is, until that day in the garden.

He was on his way to class. He was running a little late; Starbucks had been busier than usual but he wasn’t going to show up to a three hour lecture uncaffeinated. On principle Julian refused to run, or god forbid _jog,_ but if he took the shortcut through the rose garden, he might just make it on time. 

He had almost made it through, the exit gate in sight, when he heard it: a violin. Julian stopped and looked up. The music cut through the air, sweet and solitary. He didn’t know much about violin but he knew enough about music to recognize that this person was _good_. His desire to get to class taking a backseat, Julian wandered back into the garden to find the source. 

It didn’t take him long. Near the center of the garden, there was a little alcove boxed in on all sides by greenery, hiding whoever chose to sit at the lone stone bench from view. It was here that Julian found his violinist. Maybe he should have been shocked to see Riley Paige playing alone in the garden. But somehow this just made Riley make a little more sense. Riley’s bow sang across the strings, fluid and unbothered. He was facing the archway that led into the alcove, like he was on the lookout for anyone who might find him, but his eyes were closed. Julian stood quiet as he played through the rest of the song. He didn’t recognize it; Julian had never had much interest in classical. 

Riley finished the song and let the violin come to rest in his lap. If he was startled to see Julian standing there when he opened his eyes, he didn’t show it. Julian’s mind raced for something to say. 

“You’re good.”

“I know.” It wasn’t arrogant, the way Riley said it. Just factual. In the way of someone who understood the exact breadth of their own skills. 

“You’re late for class,” Riley said, before Julian could say anything else. 

“How do you know that?”

Riley shrugged. 

“So am I.”

Julian blinked. He couldn’t be expected to know every person in his philosophy class, not when there were hundreds of them in that lecture hall, but surely he would have noticed Riley Paige. Or not. He hadn’t really been interesting until now. 

“Walk with me?” Julian asked. Riley looked at him, his expression inscrutable.   
  


“Okay.”

He stood and followed Julian out of the garden. 

It became routine. Riley would wait by the entrance of the garden and Julian would meet him there. Together, they’d walk through it and go to class. At first, the walks had been quiet. They’d simply walked in comfortable silence. But as the season started to turn, Riley started to talk. About music, mostly. And once he started, there was no stopping him. Julian didn’t mind. He liked listening, liked the companionship. 

At first, they’d split off once they’d reached the lecture hall to take their normal seats. But one day in early December, Riley, speaking passionately about a mazurka he found particularly interesting, took the seat next to Julian without stopping for breath, as though he’d done it all semester. People stared. Riley Paige didn’t talk to people, not if he didn’t have to. Especially not some theater major. But there they were. 

Julian was happy. He liked Riley, liked spending time with him and hearing his opinions on Julian’s scripts or debating the artistic merits of various musicians. He didn’t think any of this was a problem‒at least, not until the gloves. 

He’d forgotten his gloves before he left for class, and by the time he’d realized they were missing, he didn’t think it was worth turning back. He didn’t want to keep Riley waiting. When he got to the garden, Riley noticed immediately. 

“Where are your gloves?”

“I forgot them. It’s fine.” Julian waved it off. His fingertips were already starting to feel numb. 

“It’s not fine, California.” Riley said, just a little teasing. He was pulling off his gloves as he said it, and he pushed them into Julian’s hands before he could say no. The ring on his left hand gleamed in the fading light. “Take mine.”

“What about your hands?” Julian argued as he put on Riley’s gloves. They were just a little too big. 

“My coat’s insulated, they’ll be fine.” Riley shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his coat. Julian rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue any further. Riley was unshakeable once he’d made a decision about something. Besides, the gloves felt so nice, already warm from the heat of Riley’s hands. 

He’d taken them off during class, tried to hand them back to Riley, but he refused. 

“I’ll walk back to your dorm with you. You can give them back then, when you don’t need them.”

They walked through the garden the opposite way for the first time. When they reached his dorm, Julian fumbled for his key and opened the door. Only then did Riley finally accept his gloves back. He gave Julian a smile that made a flush spread up the back of his neck. 

“I’ll see you Monday,” he said, before he turned and walked away. Julian closed the door, flexing his fingers like he could shake the feeling of the gloves on his hands. 

“Jules.”

He turned at the sound of his name. Logan was there, sprawled across the couch. His brows were furrowed, his phone held up like Julian had interrupted him in the middle of something. 

“What?” Julian asked, a little annoyed. 

“Jules he’s _married_.”

Julian frowned. 

  
“I—what? I know.”

Logan was still frowning at him. Julian crossed the room to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“Julian, I know I’m terrible with this stuff but—”

“It’s not like that, Logan. I—no. No!”

He opened the fridge and stopped, the realization hitting him like the cold air. Because Logan was right, wasn’t he? He thought about Riley all the time. Felt a heady rush of dopamine every time he made Riley laugh. He hadn’t felt happy like he did with Riley in a long time. Somehow, when he wasn’t paying attention, he’d been stupid enough to fall for _Riley Paige_ , of all people. 

“Fuck!” he said. He slammed the fridge closed.

“Do you want my advice?” Logan asked, sounded like he’d rather eat peanut butter than do so. 

“No!” Julian said, stalking into his room. He called over his shoulder, “your sweater’s on backwards!”

The next week was hard. He couldn’t avoid Riley, that would be suspicious, and more than that, he didn’t _want_ to. But it was so much worse, knowing how he felt and knowing he could never do anything about it. 

If Riley sensed a change in Julian, he didn’t show it. He carried on like normal, waiting for Julian at the garden and talking about sonatas. 

The week after that though, something was different. Riley looked serious, more serious than Julian had seen him in ages. 

“You alright?” Julian asked. It was a fine line he tred, between acting like he cared too little and showing that he cared too much. 

“Do you trust me?” Riley asked, with all the gravity in the world. Julian raised his eyebrows. 

“I do. Of course I do.”

“Okay.” Riley looked up at the bleak December sky, like it might give him answers. “Come on.”

Julian walked with Riley into the garden, like he always did. But when they reached the middle Riley turned left, where they normally turned right. Toward the alcove. They hadn’t been there since the day they met. Concern mounting, Julian followed Riley into the alcove. Maybe he had private news to share, maybe something had happened maybe—

As soon as he rounded the last corner, before Julian could ask any questions, Riley’s hands were on his face, pulling him into a searing kiss. Julian’s brain melted. He tangled his fingers in Riley’s hair, pulling him closer. He was so _warm_ , all of him strong and sure and Julian was dizzy from the feeling of Riley’s mouth on his.

When they finally broke apart, Julian was breathing hard. He looked Riley in the eyes. Riley looked as dazed as Julian felt. 

“Fuck,” Julian said. Riley huffed a laugh. They shouldn’t do this. But how could they not do this? Julian pulled Riley back in to kiss him again, feeling his smile against his lips. There would be consequences later, but right now? He couldn’t help it. Everyone on campus knew about Riley Paige. But no one knew Riley Paige like Julian.


	11. cowboy like me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie/Justin. It takes one to know one, and Charlie thinks Justin is a cowboy like him.

“For the record, I still don’t like you,” Charlie said as Justin boosted him over the fence and he dropped down into the tennis court. Justin rolled his eyes. 

“Write home to your mum about it, then. I don’t need you to like me, Windsor, I just needed an extra pair of hands and I knew you’d be game.”

Justin hoisted himself over the fence with practiced ease. He dropped down onto the tennis court and wiped his hands on his jeans, before walking over to the bulging duffle bag of supplies he’d left there earlier and rummaging through it. He looked over his shoulder back at Charlie. 

“Besides, I don’t like you all that much either.”

Charlie shoved his hands deep in his pockets. He let out a low whistle. 

“You even play tennis?”

Justin laughed humorlessly. 

“You think I’d do this if I did? Nah, this is to fuck with those bastards on the tennis team.”

“What’d they do to you?” Charlie asked, walking over to stand next to Justin. He looked up at him, eyes wild, and handed him a can of paint. 

“Nothing,” Justin said with a grin. He stood, paint cans in both hands. “Why, Windsor, you only interested if this is a revenge mission?”

Charlie laughed. 

“Nah, Hanover. Just more fun that way, s’all.” 

Unceremoniously, he dumped the paint onto the tennis court, the red flood of it stark against the green. Justin jerked the can in his left hand hard, the paint splashing out in an arc in front of him. Despite the mess, the irreverence, both of them took care to keep their shoes clean. 

“You hear that?” Charlie said, looking up. Faint music drifted through the night air. Too far to put them at risk of being caught, but odd, at that time. Justin tilted his head to the side. 

“Elvis.”

He poured out the rest of the paint in his cans. Charlie looked at him. 

“Didn’t take you for a fan.”

Justin rolled his eyes. He threw the empty cans in the duffle bag.

“I’m an asshole, but I have taste, Amos.”

Charlie considered this and, feeling a little reckless, drawled,

“Care to dance, Hanover?”

Justin didn’t look at him, but Charlie could swear he was smiling. Not like before, all razor sharp edges, but soft with understanding. 

“I don’t dance, cowboy.” Justin hitched one of the duffle bags over his shoulder and tossed the other at Charlie, who caught it smoothly. 

“Never?”

Justin ran a hand through his hair, streaking it with paint. 

“Ask me again next time.” 


	12. long story short

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt/Wes. There's no more keeping score, now Wes just keeps Kurt warm.

When Wes realizes that he wants to marry Kurt, he asks 5 people for five different things. 

He asks his father for permission. Wes’s family loves Kurt, his father included; but it’s one thing to date the heir to a mafia empire and another entirely to marry them. Wes has had this drilled into his head since he had his first girlfriend. He knows the risks—but so does Kurt. 

“You’re sure?” Lucan asks, shifting back in his chair, the leather creaking. 

“Yes.” Wes’s hands are knotted together in his lap. Lucan nods, once. He won’t ask again or pry further. He knows his son, knows what it means for him to ask and to stand his ground with certainty. 

“You promise me one thing, yeah?” Lucan says, scratching his neck. “Don’t let your mother give him the family spaghetti recipe until after the wedding.”

Wes doesn’t bother to tell him that Grace gave Kurt the recipe about a month into their relationship. 

He asks Burt for his blessing. Kurt doesn’t need anyone’s permission for anything, but Wes knows how important Burt’s approval is, how close they are. 

“All I want is for Kurt to be happy, you know that,” Burt says, appraising. Wes likes Burt, he always has, but this has been one of the most nerve wracking conversations he’s ever had in his life. He’s thankful it’s over.

“I—I know. I want the same thing.” It’s the truth. All Wes has ever wanted was for the people he loves to be safe and happy, including Kurt. Especially Kurt. 

“One suggestion, though,” Burt says, shaking Wes’s hand. “Next time your family gets football tickets, maybe hand them off to me instead of taking Kurt. You know how he is.”

Wes grins. 

He asks Reed for his help with the ring. Wes knows what quality jewelry is from his father, but when it comes to design, he’s lost. Something mundane won’t do. It has to be special, unique, and no one knows what Kurt would like better than Reed. 

Reed nearly squeals when Wes comes to him.

“We’ll have to make an appointment. We can go to the same jeweler Shane and I did, he’s highly recommended, oh I have so many  _ ideas _ .” Reed is a flurry of arms and emotion as he throws himself at Wes. 

“He’s going to love it, Wes.”

Wes wraps his arms around his friend. 

“I sure hope so, he won’t say yes if he doesn’t like the ring.”

Reed laughs, but he doesn’t tell Wes that he’s wrong. 

He asks Blaine if it’s okay. Kurt and Blaine broke up a long time ago, but they were high school sweethearts; while they’ve both moved on, it feels wrong to do this without Blaine on board. 

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.” Blaine, bemused, takes a bite of his muffin.

“I know man, but—” Wes looks down at his coffee cup. “I just wouldn’t feel right about it. After everything we all went through, especially. And you’re still one of his best friends. One of my best friends.”

“I told you when you got together, Wes. It’s always going to be a little weird but,” Blaine’s eyebrows scrunch together. “It’s good weird. I’m never going to be the person who stands between you two. ”

Wes feels the tension leave his body. He hadn’t doubted that Blaine would be supportive, but it was nice to hear nonetheless. 

Finally, he asks Kurt to marry him. 

He’d planned out the whole thing. Next week, when they went to see Julian in Los Angeles. Dinner at a rooftop restaurant. A walk down the pier. Standing on the beach at sunset. There, he’d ask him. 

But when Wes wakes up on a Tuesday morning, Kurt sitting up in bed next to him wearing his reading glasses, he doesn’t want to wait anymore. 

“Babe?” Wes asks, reaching for Kurt with one hand and rifling around in the drawer of the bedside table with the other. 

“Hmm?” Kurt doesn’t look up, engrossed in the book in front of him. Wes’s fingers catch around the small velvet box and he brings it around, popping it open on the bed between them. 

“Marryme?” It comes out as one word, his voice still slurred from sleep. Kurt freezes, then relaxes with a sigh. 

“God damn it.”

“Huh?” Wes was prepared for Kurt to respond a few different ways—this was not one of them. 

“I really thought you could make it until next week, but Reed was sure you’d cave early. Now I have to let him Marie Kondo my wardrobe.”

Wes processes this, still not fully awake. 

“You  _ knew? _ ” Wes asks, incredulous. Kurt looks at him and cups his face in his hand, his eyes unbelievably fond. 

“Wes. Every single person in our lives is an insufferable gossip, especially my father. None of them can keep their mouths shut. I’ve known for weeks.”

Wes falls back on his pillow. He lets his head loll to side, looking back at Kurt. 

“Sorry it wasn’t more romantic.”

Kurt laughs, the sound making Wes’s heart swell. 

“It’s perfect.”

Wes holds the box out to him.

“Is that a yes then?”

Kurt gently takes the box, admiring the way the ring nestled inside catches the light. 

“Yeah,” he says softly. He takes Wes’s hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. “I’ll marry you.”


	13. marjorie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What died didn’t stay dead, because Alan is still alive in Dwight’s head.

Dwight used to think he was the only one who saw ghosts. 

He used to tell people about it, how sometimes when he was watching TV or out in the woods he felt Alan next to him or heard the whisper of his laugh. At best, it triggered pitying, worried glances from his mother’s friends and at worst, well; he’d heard the things they’d whispered to Agatha when they thought he couldn’t hear. 

He kept it to himself after that. They were more echoes than anything, easy to ignore if he had to. He didn’t want to. If this was Alan reaching out to him, he wanted him to know he was listening. And if not, if it was really just his imagination… was it so wrong to hold on to what he had left?

And then he met Blaine. Blaine, who’s grief was so new it bled out of him raw and vivid like an open wound. Dwight didn’t know if he felt it because of his hunting abilities or something else, but it was palpable from the moment he met him, a heaviness that never left his eyes. It was Wes who mentioned it, that Blaine had had a friend who died only months before he transferred. So Dwight went to him. 

Blaine had been skeptical at first. Guarded. But then Dwight had explained. He told him about Alan, about losing him and then finding him just a little too late. 

“I see him sometimes,” Dwight had said one night, slowly. A bunch of them had had a movie night, but everyone else had already headed off to bed. Except for him. “Or I hear him. It’s like—like he’s in my head.”

In the time that they’d known each other, Dwight had certainly done things that made Blaine look at him like he was crazy. That wasn’t one of those times. Instead Blaine smiled a little, glancing over to the camera sitting on his desk. 

“I see him too,” Blaine said. He stood up and walked over to his desk, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It was worse back home but—it’s like I can almost forget he’s gone sometimes, you know? I’ll see something that I think he’d like or I think about something he’d say and it’s like—”

“—It’s like he’s still around,” Dwight finished. 

They talked about it less, as time went on, but it was comforting to know that someone understood. It wasn’t the same, Blaine losing a friend he’d known less than a year and Dwight losing his brother, but it was close in the way it counted. And then he met Kurt. 

He hadn’t been joking about the haunted cookies. A family connection like that, it was serious stuff if Elizabeth was the haunting type. But as Kurt settled in and the Karofsky issue was resolved, he felt no more malignant energies, and certainly no evidence of supernatural misdeeds. So he’d let it go. 

There was one morning where he found himself alone in the kitchen with Kurt as he made cookies. Dwight had been there first, had gotten an early start before he set out to cleanse the campus once again, when Kurt had come in and asked if he minded if he baked. Dwight had said no, and they’d settled into a comfortable silence. As Kurt poured in the dry ingredients he started humming, a song Dwight didn’t know. 

“That’s nice,” Dwight said. 

Kurt turned to him. 

“Hmm?” 

“That song. It’s nice.”

Kurt blinked, and then shook his head. 

“I didn’t even realize I was singing it. I haven’t heard that song in—a long time.”

Dwight didn’t say anything, sensing that Kurt wasn’t done. He dragged a finger through the bit of flour that had spilled on the counter. 

“My mom used to sing it to me,” Kurt said, almost speaking more to himself than Dwight. 

Normally someone subconsciously channeling a song from their dead mother would have Dwight fearing possession, but this didn’t feel like that. 

“Did she sing it a lot?”

Kurt tilted his head to the side. He started to mix the dough with a wooden spoon. 

“She did, I think.”

“You think?”

Dwight’s brow furrowed. Kurt sighed as he scraped down the sides of the bowl. 

“I was so young, and it’s been so long—it’s hard to say what memories are real and which one’s I’ve cobbled together from my dad’s stories, you know?” 

It made sense. After all, Dwight’s memories of Alan already felt fuzzy around the edges. But that didn’t mean it was fair. 

“I’m sorry,” Dwight said, his voice cracking on the last syllable. He winced. Kurt looked up at him, eyes understanding. 

“It’s okay though, I think. Losing the memories doesn’t mean we don’t care, it just means we’re human.” 

Kurt brushed the flour off his hands. 

“And I keep her alive in the ways I can. I sing the songs she loved, I use her recipes.” 

He gestured to the bowl of cookie dough in front of him. Dwight unwittingly grabbed for the amulet hidden under his shirt. 

“She’s never really going to be gone if I keep her here with me.”

Kurt laughed. 

“It’s funny, though. Sometimes I’ll have dreams about her and it’s almost like she never left, you know?”

He did. 

Dwight had never felt normal, but it was nice to feel like there were a few people who understood, who made something that felt so alien and isolating feel a little less scary. 

Dwight had worried that he’d see Harvey, after the fire. He’d made such a big sacrifice to save Dwight’s life, to save all their lives, surely this was the debt the universe would demand? 

But he didn’t. Maybe he just didn’t know him well enough. Didn’t spend enough time in the same places Harvey used to. He’d sit in the ashes of the Art Hall, searching for a connection, but he couldn’t find it. 

But if he went into Warbler’s Hall, Dwight would see the lone music stand that stood by the piano, sheet music from Parent’s Night still marked up and ready to be performed. And if he asked, his friends would tell him how boys would glance over at it during practice, like Harvey might be standing there. 

If he asked Blaine, he’d tell him how sometimes he looked over at the heavy oak doors, like Harvey would walk in any minute. How it felt like he was late, not gone. 

If he asked Logan, he’d tell him that he heard Harvey’s voice every time he gets frustrated, with life or music or his father. It was grounding. Comforting. 

If he asked Sylvia Medel, she wouldn’t tell him. But if she did, she’d tell him about the phantom fingers that she can almost feel hold hers when she sits at the piano. 

A younger Dwight might have looked at it like a challenge, like being haunted meant hunting and adventure and victory. But he was older now. He knew now that not all ghosts haunted because they had unfinished business. Some, like Alan, like Jude, like Harvey—their memory haunted you because you loved them. And that was something worth holding onto. 


	14. closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian/Logan. Yes, Julian got Logan's letter, and yes, he's doing better-but it cuts deep to know him, right to the bone.

“—and I told him there was no way Casey was gonna take him back, not even out of pity, but he won’t listen. You know how he is… anyway. I, uh, I miss you. Call me back Jules.”

The message cuts off with a click. Julian stares at the screen for a moment before he swipes left and deletes the message. He sighs. Logan’s called and left Julian a message nearly every day since he came back to California. Julian has yet to feel the urge to pick up. 

He’s started talking to other people. He picks up Derek’s calls now. Clark comes over sometimes, helps him with PT. He’s texted Sebastian, a little. But he won’t answer Logan. Julian knows how hard Logan’s trying to contact him; the backlog of texts and constant calls are a testament to that. But he refuses to respond. He knows what Logan’ll say, so what’s the use? Isn’t it better, isn’t it fair, that Julian gets to reject Logan before Logan rejects him?

“You think you’ll ever talk to him again?” Derek asks one day. Julian’s sitting at the kitchen counter, going over a script Carmen sent over. 

“I don’t… know.” It’s hard to fathom a future that doesn’t have Logan in it. But how’s he supposed to move forward from here? “It’s—so complicated, D.”

Derek just hms in understanding. He hasn’t told Logan that he and Julian are talking again, said he doesn’t plan to unless Julian says it’s okay. After all, shutting everyone out, Logan included, was one thing. But if Logan found out he was the only person still in the dark, well, there was no telling how he’d react. 

“He’s trying. Really trying, you know.”

“I know.”

But Julian doesn’t want to be Logan’s scapegoat anymore, the person patching him back together behind the scenes so that he’s presentable for the next pretty boy he falls for. Julian wants more. He always has, but now he’s finally starting to see that he deserves it. 

“Derek?” Logan’s voice comes through the phone, distant but unmistakable. 

“Look, Casey, I have to go. Thanks,” Derek says smoothly. He hangs up and the call ends. Julian rests his chin in his hands, staring at his phone. He had to give it to Derek, he played his part well when it came to their maneuvers around Logan. Never hesitated, never missed a beat. Never gave Logan a reason to question what was happening. 

But what Derek and Julian don’t know is that Logan has been asking questions. Derek is right; Logan is trying. Trying to take care of himself, trying to make peace with his emotions, trying to be more patient—trying to pay more attention to his friends. 

Logan doesn’t know what’s going on, just that something has changed. Derek is less tense, a little more cagey. Always rushing off the phone when Logan enters the room. Whatever Derek’s up to, he never slips. Logan’s tested him, asked for details about the call he just got off, and Derek always answers seamlessly. As far as Logan can tell, there’s no cracking him. 

Derek and Julian don’t know that he figures it out on a Tuesday night, when Logan’s at Derek’s door, about to ask a calc question, and he hears Julian’s voice. Tired. Softer than usual. But unmistakable. 

“How is he?”

“Fine. Still trying to talk to you.”

“I know.”

Logan doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation. He walks silently back to his room, blood rushing in his ears. He should be angry. He almost wants to be angry—instead all he feels is guilty. He throws the calculus textbook on the bed and grabs for his laptop. He’s not processing, not really, just doing the only thing he can think to do. When Derek comes to talk to him an hour later, he’s already gone.

Julian doesn’t know that when Logan calls him that night, he’s at the airport, minutes away from boarding a flight to Los Angeles. But it is the call that Julian finally picks up. He couldn’t say why. Maybe he’s just tired. Or maybe he’s ready for this to end.

“I—Jules?” Logan says, breathless. Everything he means to say melts away. “You answered.”

“Stop calling me, Logan.” It’s not unkind, the way Julian says it. Just final.

“Why?” Logan asks, still reeling. 

“I can’t do this anymore. It’s—it’s too hard.”

“I just—Julian, let me fix it. Let me try.” Logan runs a hand through his hair, agitated. “I’m so—”

“No.” Julian cuts him off. “It’s not your fault.”

But it feels like it is. How many times has Logan hurt Julian without meaning to? Forced him to watch as Logan chased after someone else, never noticing how Julian felt? And now it feels like Logan’s hurting him all over again.

“What do you want me to do?” Logan asks, nearly pleading. He’s trying desperately not to raise his voice, for once trying not to make a scene. 

“I—” Julian takes a breath. “Just let it go. I’m done.”

“Damn it, Julian! I can’t lose you too.” Logan’s hands are shaking.

“I love you,” Julian responds. The call ends. 

Logan looks down at the phone in his hand and fights the urge to throw it. He looks up at the gate. He weighs his options, considering the woman at the desk and reaching for the boarding pass in his pocket. He sighs and stands, turning his back on the plane. 

  
  


After Logan’s call, Julian can’t sleep. Derek tried to call too at one point, a few times, but Julian’s too drained to answer. He doesn’t lose consciousness until the light in his room pales and greys, Sneakers’s silhouette barely visible at the end of his bed. 

He wakes with a knock at the door. He fumbles with the sheet that’s twisted around his legs before sliding out of the bed. He’s got one hand on the doorknob when the person on the other side speaks. 

“Julian?”

No. Here? How? The fear that cuts through him takes him out at the knees and he crumbles to the floor. He reaches up and locks the door.

“Julian, please.” Logan’s voice is ragged. He wasn’t sure if Dolce would help him, if she’d directed him to the right room in their sprawling house, but the click of the lock is telling enough.

“I know you don’t want to talk to me but—” Logan rests his forehead against the door. “I know you’re talking to Derek again. I heard you, yesterday.”

No response. He doesn’t know if he’ll get one. He lets his backpack fall to the carpet with a soft  _ thump _ . 

“And I was hurt, at first. But the more I thought about it, the more I just felt… bad. How many times, Jules? How many times have you gone to him over me because I wasn’t paying attention, because you knew I wouldn’t, because—” Logan clenches his jaw, fighting the tightness in his throat. “I should have been there for you. Before things got bad.”

He slides to the ground, resting his back against the door. 

“I don’t want to make this about me. I just—” he sighs. “I didn’t know, Julian. I didn’t know.”

It’s still all so messy, in his head. His feelings for Kurt, his feelings about Julian. He doesn’t know how to untangle it all. All he knows is that he can’t lose his best friend. 

“Do you remember New Years our freshman year? When you dared Derek to eat 3 whole pizzas and he did, but then he puked and then he fell asleep on the couch?” Logan looks down at his hands. “We stayed up late. Just fucking around, playing video games until we were punch-drunk and stupid. And at around 4 in the morning you told me—”

There’s a gentle knock against the other side of the door. Logan takes it as motivation to continue. 

“You told me it was the best year of your life. Because you had us.”

Logan crosses his arms. 

“I don’t—I can’t—I know I can’t just… fix everything. And if you want me to leave, I will. I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to. But I’m willing to fight for this if you are.”

Silence. And then, the lock clicks. Logan looks up sharply and stands up a little too fast, his vision swimming. The door swings open. 


	15. evermore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine/Jude. Jude has a feeling so peculiar that this pain, the pain of watching Blaine fall for someone else, would be for evermore

It was fine that Blaine was moving on. He deserved it, after everything he had been through. Deserved to have someone who wasn’t scared to hold his hand and take him to concerts, someone who’d sing duets with him and love music the same way he did. Jude just wished that he could tell him so himself. 

It had been confusing at first. He’d blacked out during the attack and then after, who knew how many hours later, he’d woken up in the dark of Blaine’s bedroom. Blaine’s face looked peaceful, if a little puffy in the moonlight. He’d reached for his friend, trying to wake him, but Jude’s hand just passed through him. He kept trying. Each attempt to reach Blaine was more desperate than the last, but soon it began to sink in: he was dead. And there was no coming back. 

Jude watched helplessly as his friend’s lives collapsed around them. He watched as Erin and Becca said their final goodbyes, flinched when Blaine made impact with the gun cabinet. He’d ran for him. Tried to hold him. Tried to shield him. It didn’t help. And then days later, Micah had been sent away without a chance to talk to Blaine or Shane. Jude had sat there while Blaine held his weeping brother. Wishing he could be there for them in a way that mattered. 

When Blaine transferred to Dalton, Jude followed. Not on purpose. It was like he was tethered to his old friend and he could only stray so far from him. It would have been nice, to check in on the others, or his parents. But if he had to choose anyone to haunt—it would’ve been Blaine. It was always Blaine. 

And then, of course, came Logan. Jude, standing in that courtyard, hands in his pockets, watched as Blaine’s face lit up in a way it hadn’t in months. Not like the weight had lifted, but like it didn’t feel quite as heavy for once. Like Blaine could bear it. 

The first time Logan reached for Blaine in the dark and kissed him oh so gently, Jude was reminded of that night on the Santa Monica Pier. Their friends had scattered but Blaine had stood by his side while Jude continued to take pictures. 

“How do you decide what to take pictures of?” Blaine had asked. He’d looked at him, hair loose and eyes wide, and Jude’s heart skipped a beat. His finger found the shutter button and his camera went off. 

“Beautiful things,” he’d said. “I take pictures of beautiful things.” 

And Blaine had blushed. They had hundreds of moments like these, moments that were almost something. Jude just remembered this because it was the last one. 

It was for the best, wasn’t it? Logan could do what he couldn’t in life, romance Blaine like he deserved, and he could do what Jude certainly couldn’t in death, hold him, talk to him. He didn’t know why he was here, fated to watch his best friend fall in love with someone else while he was doomed to never say a word. 

There were worse things. And really, Jude didn’t mind so much. Maybe he was Blaine’s guardian angel, meant to guide him through his grief and his hurt. It explained what tethered Jude to Blaine all these months after the attack, and Jude was more than willing to accept it as the reason why. 

He figured it out over winter break. Blaine had gotten in a car bound for the airport and Jude had followed, as he always did. But somewhere around the school gates, he felt a tug in his gut and he froze as the car melted through him. He looked back to Windsor house, his brow furrowed. 

Jude made his way back into Blaine’s room like it might hold the answer, the explanation as to how Blaine had left him behind. It didn’t take long to find. In the shuffle of things—prepping for the Fall Festival, packing to go home, talking to Logan—Blaine had forgotten a few things on his dorm room desk. A little jar of hair gel. A pair of socks. Jude’s camera. 

He laughed, but the sound was hollow in the empty room. All this time, and it had never been about him and Blaine. It was that stupid camera. That camera that he’d loved and lugged everywhere, that would reveal just how much he cared about Blaine if he ever found the strength to turn it on. It sat there, taunting him. Maybe Blaine wasn’t the only one who was haunted. 

Jude made his way back outside. The snow had started to fall and he looked up in wonder. He couldn’t feel the cold or the wetness of it. It was like snow in a movie, all soft and dreamy, the kind that came with all of the beauty and none of the consequences. He closed his eyes, pushing back tears that he knew wouldn’t come anyway. 

It wasn’t fair, to be dead and still hurt this much. Love and loss were still cleaving his heart in half like they didn’t care that it was no longer beating. Could you get over someone you never really had? That you never could have? He hoped so. He just wanted Blaine to be happy. Logan made Blaine happy, and that had to be enough. 

Jude opened his eyes. He considered the snow flurrying past his face. With a sigh, he turned back to Windsor. Maybe things would hurt less tomorrow. Maybe not, but… maybe. 


	16. right where you left me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan/Micah GIS AU. trends change, rumors fly through new skies, but Logan is right where Micah left him.

“Logan.”

A heavy hand claps down his shoulder and Logan jolts. His hands pull a discordant noise out of the Marnamorian piano. Derek rolls his eyes. 

“Casey says you’re weirding out her customers. You should call it for the night.”

His armplate beeps at him, as though seconding Derek’s words. Logan shakes his head. 

“I—yeah. Okay.”

He stands from the bench at the center of the room and slides it into the instrument. The Chaaelan woman, girl really, lounging at a nearby table wrinkles her noses at him. Derek winks at her and her expression softens. Logan rolls his eyes and heads toward the bar, leaving his friend to flirt—or not. It was equally possible that Derek just wanted to make Casey jealous. Whatever. He didn’t really care. 

He slips onto a barstool and wordlessly Casey slides a lurid green shot down the bar to him. He doesn’t know exactly what’s in it; most alcohols, earther or otherwise, barely give him a buzz. Only Casey knows how to mix the stuff that can actually get him drunk. He knocks back the shot and his veins flush dark emerald. Casey’s expression is placid, but Logan knows her well enough to see the anger flashing in her eyes.

“You could talk to him, you know.”

Casey’s gaze shifts to him, intense enough to make Logan uncomfortable.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, handing her the shot glass. “You know he’s just doing it to get your attention.”

“He’d have my attention if he really wanted it.” She dropped the glass in the sink. It’s tiring, watching Derek and Casey go back and forth like this. But it’s familiar, the push and pull a fixture of their lives at the Stuart Saloon. He’d be lying if it wasn’t occasionally a welcome distraction, asinine as it could be. The Chaaelan woman’s giggle echoes through the bar. Casey passed him another shot forcefully, this one a painfully bright orange. 

“I’m just saying, you don’t have to push him away.”

Logan throws back the next shot.

“Bold words from the guy still moping over some M1 unit.”

Logan splutters. Choking, he hits the plate on his throat and gasps as air floods back in. He glares at Casey. She raises her eyebrows and smirks, victorious, before turning to help the other patrons at the bar. 

He’s not moping. He refuses to call this moping. And who is Casey, anyway, to call _him_ out on his romantic troubles? Logan grumbles and traces a finger through the condensation on the counter. 

“Seat taken?”

Someone with flowing crimson hair and a slinky blue dress slides onto the stool next to him. They look at him over the rims of their dark solarglasses. Logan sighs. 

“Hi, Julian.”

“Aren’t you fun today.”

Julian’s body shimmers and shifts into his usual form, the long red hair melting into something cropped and oaky brown.

“Casey put you in your place again?”

“ _Casey_ ,” Logan said with emphasis, “Should focus on fixing her own broken romantic relationships instead of bullying me about mine.” 

“D’s just trying to get to her.”

“That’s what I said.”

Julian stands and slides smoothly over the bar.

“She hates it when you do that.”

“She loves me and knows I’m good for business.”

Julian pulls a glass from under the bar and fills it with water. He passes it to Logan, who frowns. 

“No thanks.”

“Uh huh.”

That’s the funny thing about Julian. He does everything he can to help Logan take care of himself, but he won’t force him either. Annoyingly, his efforts are more persuasive that way. Logan takes the glass with a mumbled thanks. Julian doesn’t acknowledge this, just looks down the bar at Casey. Logan follows his gaze. 

“I don’t understand why she doesn’t—”

“—Just tell him how she feels? Believe it or not, Logan, some of us have a harder time admitting it when we have feelings for someone.” Julian looks back at Logan with a smirk. If Logan didn’t know better, he’d think Julian sounded a little bitter. 

“If I’m so good at this then why am I alone?” Logan threw back the glass of water like it was another shot. Julian tilts his head. 

“I don’t know. What happened to that M1 unit, anyway?”

Logan winces. It feels almost cosmic, the way Julian and Micah had just missed each other. It’s probably for the best; he finds it hard to believe that they would have gotten along. 

“I told him to leave. And… and he left.”

_“So you’re leaving?” Logan’s hands were shaking. He braced them against the back of the piano in front of him._

_“Well, yes,” Micah cocked his head to the side. “There’s only so much I can do by transmission, the archive would need me there in person, but Logan you could come with me!”_

_“What?”_

_Micah took his hand._

_“Come with me. To the archive.”_

_Logan felt disconnected, like the signal in his brain had gone fuzzy. The information refused to compute._

_“I--I can’t. There’s-- there’s Derek, and Casey, and the saloon--”_

_“It’s not forever, Logan. They’ll be here when you get back.”_

_When he got back. But Logan knew how things like this went, how a year bled into five, how a job turned into a life on the run. He didn’t know how to do that again. Could he do that again?_

_“But I’m--there’s--” Logan felt trapped, felt like the walls of his small apartment were closing in. “I can’t. I can’t.”_

_Micah wouldn’t say it, but he was hurt. Logan knew it from the way the corners of his mouth ticked downwards._

_“You don’t have to, Logan. I’d never try to force you away from your friends. If you want to stay here then you should stay here.”_

_“I do.”_

_“Okay.”_

_Logan’s blood was rushing in his ears._

_“Then I guess we’re done.”_

_“I don’t understand.” Micah froze._

_“This.” Logan waved a hand between the two of them. “We’re done. It’s over. It’s clearly not working anymore.”_

_Micah processed this. He looked at Logan. Logan swallowed against the lump in his throat._

_“But--”_

_“Did you really think this would last?” Logan said, words laced with venom. That I would stay with you?”_

_Micah didn’t respond, just stared. He’d come into the empty saloon so excited, his face lit up like Logan had rarely seen it. Hard to believe that that was the same person who was standing in front of him now._

_“I don’t want you anymore.”_

_Like a toy he’d outgrown, a discarded plaything. He didn’t feel the words he was saying but he said them anyway, trying to get a rise out of Micah, trying to get him to fight back. Wanting Micah to hurt Logan the way Logan was hurting him. But Micah would never give him that satisfaction._

_“If that’s what you want,” Micah said quietly. Level-headed as always._

_“It is,” Logan said, breathing hard. Without another word, Micah turned and walked out the door._

He almost can’t believe it still. But even someone as patient, as even-keeled as Micah has their breaking point. Funny, that Logan was the one who was organic but Micah was the one who was willing to change. To evolve. And Logan? He panicked. And then he ruined everything. 

“Fuck, Logan, you’re an idiot.”

“I _know_ that, thanks,” Logan says bitterly. 

“I don’t—what were you _thinking_? Julian pushes him the drink he’d mixed while Logan was speaking, colored a cheery shade of pink. Logan took a sip and shook his head, putting it back on the bar. Another patron joins the bar two stools down and Casey moves to serve him. 

“I wasn’t, clearly.” He sighs. “I messed up. I always fucking mess it up.”

Julian looks at him, his expression inscrutable.

“But you want to fix it.”

Logan’s head snaps up. 

“What?”

“It’s different this time, isn’t it? With—with the last guy—”

Julian wrinkles his nose. He knows better than to drop Blaine’s name in the middle of the bar. 

“You self sabotaged. Things got bad. He ran. You let him.”

Logan rolls his eyes. 

“What’s your point?”

“With the other guy, you were… different. More angry. Less sad. It’s like this time you know what you did wrong.”

Logan thinks of Micah sitting in Logan’s bed, reading paper books like they’d never gone out of style. Micah had read to him, a few times. Mostly from the same book. Micah’s favorite quote comes to his mind, unbidden: _“…There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover’s whisper, irresistible—magic to make the sanest man go mad.”_ Maybe chasing Micah halfway across the galaxy is mad. But if Logan is a fool, he’s a fool in love, and he’s desperate to set things right. 

“I wish I could tell _him_ that.”

Julian shrugs. 

“Then go find him. You know where he was headed.”

Logan shakes his head. 

“Who knows if he’s still there. It was always supposed to be temporary and it’s been months. He could be anywhere by now.”

Logan considers the drink in front of him. What would Micah think, if he saw him like this? Sitting in the saloon and playing the piano, just like the first day Micah had stumbled in. Just like the day he’d walked out, too. Micah could be anywhere by now and Logan was still right where he’d left him. Logan turns the glass in his hands. 

“I don’t know, ask around. There can only be so many M1s who go by Micah, right?” Julian is uncharacteristically optimistic. Maybe he’s just tired of seeing Logan like this. The man sitting two stools down looks up at them sharply, face shield dropping. 

“Micah? You’re looking for Micah?”

Logan looks over at him and jolts. For a heartbeat, Logan almost thinks he’s seeing Blaine Anderson but the resemblance quickly fades, the idea leaving his mind as fast as it entered. 

“What’s it to you?” Julian says, eyes flashing. 

“M1-C4H, right?” the man whispers loudly, leaning forward. 

Logan blinks. Anyone could go by Micah but M1 codes… M1 codes don’t repeat. 

“I—yeah. Yeah, that’s him.”

“I know him. I know where you can find him.”

It seems too good to be true. Logan narrows his eyes. 

“Who are you?”

The stranger rubs the back of his neck. An escaped curl hangs loose in his face.

“He’s… an old friend.”

Logan considers him. He looks to Julian, who shrugs in a _what else are you gonna do?_ Kind of way. Logan looks back to the stranger and cautiously holds out a hand.

“I’m Logan.”

The stranger grins and takes his hand. 

“Shane. Shane Anderson.”


End file.
